


"Two Little Words" & "Yours" (two short fics for Holiday Season of Kink)

by umadoshi (Ysabet)



Category: Newsflesh Trilogy - Mira Grant
Genre: Adopted Sibling Incest, Canon Disabled Character, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Frottage, Non-Penetrative Sex, Other: See Story Notes, POV First Person, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5996143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysabet/pseuds/umadoshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She gave me one of the faint smiles that have been driving me crazy since we were fifteen--well, longer than that, but that was when she noticed and started deploying them deliberately. Neither of us has the first clue how to flirt normally with anyone else, but we know all there is to know about giving each other subtle cues or bait. And the cue I was getting from <b>that</b> smile was that her growing desire had a very particular edge to it.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I'd already let her know what I wanted. Now I smiled back at her and said, "You want some playtime, huh? I'm game."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Okay," she agreed.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Just like that, I was on her to-do list.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>A pair of relatively short pre-series, spoiler-free Georgia/Shaun fics written for Holiday Season of Kink at seasonofkink on Dreamwidth. The stories are set seven and three years before <i>Feed</i>, respectively; Georgia and Shaun are 16 in the first and 19 or 20 in the second.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Little Words

**Author's Note:**

> Beta work by wildpear.
> 
> Additional tags and info are in the notes preceding each of the two stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For "Two Little Words" (~3600 words), the kinks used from the seasonofkink list are: masturbation, voyeurism, and frottage/grinding. Additional content advisory: "Two Little Words" contains consensual sexual activity between sixteen-year-olds.

New things I'd learned about George in the couple of weeks since we'd started making out: 1) She was even better than I'd realized at giving instructions non-verbally, especially considering how badly she usually wants to use the perfect word in every situation. 2) Back when we were fourteen she'd read a ton of really good sex ed materials, and had spent the two years between then and now itching to put what she'd learned into practice. 3) That didn't mean I couldn't make her blush, just that I had to try pretty hard.

That's not a comprehensive list.

We'd spent as much time during those couple of weeks as we could messing around and learning what made us both feel good, but there were still things we hadn't done yet, including seeing each other full-on naked. (When we were kids doesn't count.) We both wanted to ease into the shiny new physical aspect of our relationship, because we were both damn sure neither of us was ever going to do this with anyone else, and we wanted to savor each new experience.

This time we were making out on my bed, fully clothed, taking advantage of the Masons being out for the afternoon. After we'd been at it for a while I realized--and felt more than a little smug about the realization--that I knew exactly what the look on George's face meant. It meant she was about halfway to coming and consciously considering whether she wanted to drag it out or let it happen.

I gazed at her face and tried to imagine what it'd be like to make her come with my mouth. She watched me back, and after a minute she laughed and asked, "What're you thinking?"

"That I want to go down on you."

Her expression turned thoughtful--not like she doubted me, but like she was curious. "Oh?"

"I want to get you off like that," I said, and then grinned at her. "And find out how you taste." I was lying half on top of her, so I slid a bit lower and pressed my cheek against her ribcage. There, I took a slow, deep breath, blatantly inhaling the scent of her body. It was a whole blend of things I probably wasn't "supposed" to let her know I could smell at all. The tang of fresh sweat, the rich heat I could only think of as _horny pussy_ \--I didn't know what the hell else to call it, which kind of sucked. In my mind those words together were hot as fuck, but while I didn't think George would be upset if I said them together, it didn't feel right to assume she'd _like_ it, even if she was okay with them separately.

I realized we were just staring at each other, me rolling those two little words-- _horny pussy_ \--around in my head, and George...George's cheeks were more flushed than they had been. Her heart was beating faster, too.

My grin widened, but my voice came out in a cracked whisper. "What do you think?" I turned my head and kissed her belly through her shirt. "Want my tongue inside you?" Knowing it wasn't gonna happen today, no matter how she answered, didn't keep me from getting more excited just saying the words and imagining it: my face between her legs, the noises she'd be making...

"Yeah," George replied. "Yeah, I do." Her fingers dragged slowly through my hair while she thought. Then she said, "Do you want to taste now? Or wait?"

It was like an electric jolt right to my dick. "Now. Now's good."

"Okay." It was her turn for a drawn-out breath. "Okay," she repeated, licking her lips. "Let me just--I'll do it."

"Okay," I echoed, almost queasy from how hard my heart was hammering in my chest. George slipped her left hand down the front of her jeans, so slowly I couldn't stand to watch. I kept my eyes on her face instead, imagining what she was doing to herself. "All the way," I said, shaken by how much it was turning me on. "As deep as you can."

"You'll be able to get deeper," she said, and I think I actually choked. She pressed her free hand against mine, palm to palm, reminding us both that my fingers were longer than hers. "You'll be able to reach places I can't."

"Take your pants off?" I asked.

George hesitated. We were still staying completely dressed most of the time, but sometimes I had my shirt off, and it wasn't like I'd never seen her in her underwear. She wouldn't technically be showing me anything new.

I didn't push. After some consideration, she shifted up onto her knees, leaving her hand right where it was. "You do it."

Dizzy with arousal, I obeyed. I unzipped her jeans and slid them down over her hips, down her legs--baring her thighs, and giving me a good look at the bulge of her hand in her underwear. I swallowed hard and got on with helping her the rest of the way out of her pants.

She leaned back against my headboard while I tossed the jeans on the floor. The movement made her t-shirt ride up, showing me an inch of her belly and the edge of her hipbone, and the way she was smiling said she knew exactly what that extra glimpse of bare skin was doing to me.

I backed away, not quite out of reach, and watched her hand move. She had her legs spread wide enough that I could see where her panties were wet right through at the crotch, where wisps of dark hair peeked out around the edges. While I stared hungrily, she began working a pair of fingers in and out of herself.

I wanted those to be my fingers, to be the one giving her that pleasure, opening her up so my tongue could get involved. I was struggling not to think too much about my cock and how badly I wanted to rub it--or even how badly I wanted to finger George. All I could do was gape at the rough motion of her hand, memorizing her rhythm for later use, when it _would_ be my fingers taking that plunge.

She stopped touching herself and offered me her left hand. I grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand to my lips, breathing deep again, and kissed her palm, open-mouthed.

George made an endearingly helpless--and smoking-hot--noise. I grinned at her and said, "If you keep doing that while I do this, it'll give me fantasy fuel for weeks."

She was too turned on to need more encouragement. While I traced the lines in her palm with my tongue, like I was reading our future, she got back to work with her other hand.

I'd never watched her masturbate before. It was riveting, watching her hips and her hand move. Was she pinching her clit, just a little? It sure looked like it. I reminded myself, not in so many words, that I was _not_ gonna yank her panties off to see what she was doing. Instead, I sucked her left forefinger into my mouth, getting my first real taste of her body.

Her hips jerked hard in response, a motion that rolled right up her spine, becoming a sound as it flowed through her throat and off her tongue. That sound was my name, like I'd never heard it before.

How did she taste? I don't even know. The flavor on my tongue was tangy and organic. How do you describe what blood tastes like? What sweat tastes like, under the bite of salt? I took her middle finger between my lips, licking it clean. She tasted like arousal and sex. She tasted like _Georgia_. It made me groan and squeeze her wrist harder, partly to keep from grabbing and squeezing my aching cock.

She got herself off before I made it to her ring finger. Her body was still quivering with need, so I gave her a loopy smile and we both kept going. I sucked and nibbled her fingers until they only tasted like skin, and George came again; I flicked my tongue between her fingers and over her palm, teasing and tempting, until she came again.

I lost track of everything but how she twitched and gasped at what we were doing. When she stopped I was slow to react, until she held her right hand up, showing me how it was glistening and trembling. But she didn't let me take it. "I need to stop," she said. Her voice was ragged. "And I can't while you're doing that. So I need you to stop."

"Did you seriously just have, like, ten orgasms?" I couldn't take my eyes off her face, the slow way she worried at her bottom lip.

"More like five." Her tiny smile was more than a little wicked. "My wrist is getting sore."

" _Five_ ," I echoed. "Holy fucking shit, George. You're gonna teach me how to do that to you, right?"

She managed to summon a hard-done-by expression. "If you insist." Then her face softened as she nodded at my crotch, where my dick was hard and straining against my pants. "Are you gonna come the second you get touched?"

"I _could_. What're you thinking?"

"If you are, I'll touch you." Even through her sunglasses, I felt her speculative gaze sweep over me like a caress. "But if you can hold off, I bet I can come again if you rub yourself on me."

My vision swam--not a good sign for self-control. George's thighs were still spread a little, giving me a clear look at her wet panties. I couldn't visualize how she looked under them, not accurately, but I knew she was a mess from coming so much, all slick and hot and oh, fuck, I wanted to have my cock inside her. I couldn't help staring, wondering if--imagining that--her wetness would be dripping right down her thighs if she was naked. Would having _me_ in there keep the wetness inside, or would more flow out of her every time I drew back for another thrust?

I barely kept from palming myself through my pants at the thought of her lying naked in front of me, her thighs and pussy soaked; she'd look so incredible that way, sated and exhausted from being fucked and fucked and fucked--

"Give me a sec," I muttered, closing my eyes.

It took more than a second. It was more like a couple of minutes--not helped by how I could hear George shifting on the bed, doing something I couldn't see to keep herself stimulated and _oh God, she was probably fingering herself again, rubbing her clit_ \--before I was sure I wouldn't cream myself the second my dick touched her body, clothes or no clothes.

I opened my eyes again. "Do you still want--"

"Yeah." George was smiling, and she anticipated my next question. "I want you right on top of me," she said, and then, still anticipating, she lowered her voice and murmured, "Come on, Shaun." And _that_ meant _"Now."_

I pushed her down flat on her back, making her smirk as I climbed on top of her. We'd had plenty of slow, gentle makeouts over the past couple of weeks, but this time we were both too eager for subtlety.

She spread her legs so I could settle between them, and just before I put my weight on her, she wriggled her hand back into her underwear. I practically fell on her when she gave me a little nod, and her hips surged up to meet mine.

I tried not to think too hard about what she was doing, because visualizing it would be a ticket to blowing my load even faster, but her hand wasn't moving and I was too curious to _not_ try to figure it out. I ground down, seeing what I could feel, and practically bit my tongue when I put it together: she was spreading herself open with her fingers, making sure her clit was getting the full benefit of my hard-on rubbing against her.

She was doing that for her own pleasure, not to get me more worked up, but the bare fact of it--that she wanted to use my cock to get off--made my balls ache and tighten with the need to come.

So I kept trying to not think about it. I just started moving, trying to focus on _anything_ but how hard I was, how George was gasping under me and shoving her hips up, how I was thrusting over and over like I could just slide into her if I did it right. She was making those little sounds that I'd already learned meant I was being forceful in a way that worked for her, my cock pushing right against her clit, right where she was already so sensitive from her earlier orgasms--

Right where I could make her come if I kept going, I could make her come so hard--

\--and she grabbed onto me like I was a lifeline, arms around me and thighs squeezing my hips while she came. She writhed against my cock, choking out " _Fuck_ yes" with every spasm of pleasure.

The change in her body when the orgasm faded was immediate, tension pouring out of her like water from a shattered glass. But she kept moving under me, breathing in harsh, knife-edged gasps. That motion _was_ for me, practically an order to get off as powerfully as she had. Her fingers dug frantically into my shoulder blades while she whispered, "That's it, Shaun, it's so good," like I needed coaxing.

A guttural sound cracked in my throat when I came, making more of a sticky mess of my clothes in a couple of heartbeats than George had made of her panties in half an hour. And then we were both laughing and shaking and holding each other, smiling matching dopey smiles that turned into clumsy, comfortable kissing while we ground together a little more.

"That's it," she repeated contentedly, working her fingers through my hair. "I love feeling you get off." Her lips were soft now, as she put her mouth to my ear. "I can't wait to feel you come inside me."

My dick honest-to-God twitched in my pants. George chuckled under me; a couple weeks of messing around hadn't even begun to cure her of her fascination with the quirks of male anatomy. That was another reason I couldn't wait to take her clothes all the way off--as things stood, she was getting more of a feel for my body than I was for hers, which wasn't remotely fair.

The words that'd been simmering in my brain fell out of my mouth--half payback for her amusement at my response to her, but all longing. "Well, _I_ can't wait to get my tongue in there," I murmured. "I want to lick your pussy--" I didn't stumble over the word, but I gave it a beat, long enough for her to react "--while you're all wet and horny, and drive you out of your fucking mind."

George sucked in a sharp breath as I spoke, but not like she was pissed. "Sounds nice," she said, almost managing to sound nonchalant.

Almost.

Then she squirmed under me, a look crossing her face that was less fun than her "gosh, do I feel like getting off now?" expression, but one that was a similarly recent discovery for me. So at least I got to feel that same flash of smugness that I knew what it meant without her saying anything: her enjoyment of being a post-orgasm puddle of happy brain chemicals was fading, so she wanted to get out of her damp clothes and into the shower.

I saw her point--people talk about "hot come", but it cools off fast, and I'd just creamed my pants--but God, I did not want to let go of her. Not now, not ever.

Trouble was, there was no possibility of "get up, get clean, fall back into bed together", or even of cuddling up with her and watching a movie or something later. Our parents were going to be home by dinnertime, although late enough that the plan was to go out to eat as a family and sit in public, with everyone's eyes on us.

I was a little too quick about rolling off her--I was ripping off a band-aid to get it over with, and my face must've showed the sting. Instead of getting out of bed, George just propped herself up on her elbows, concern shadowing her expression.

"Hey," she said. "You okay?"

Shrugging it off might've been an option a month earlier, if being in that situation had been possible then; I don't _lie_ to her, but even George's rigorous truthfulness has to make allowances for social niceties sometimes, and it wasn't like anything was genuinely wrong. But if there was anything she _needed_ me to be ruthlessly honest about, it was this: stuff about what we were doing, what we were becoming--what we'd always been, since way before we'd put words to it.

"Basically, yeah," I said. "Just...really not done holding you."

A tiny furrow of dismay appeared between her eyebrows. "I can--"

"You don't need to." It would've been way too easy to say _yes, lie back down with me_. But that wouldn't fix the actual problem, nice as it'd be. "It's hard not being sure when we can do it again, you know?"

George's mouth quirked. "Just the holding?"

I tapped a fingertip to the endearing little furrow. "Any and all of it. Snuggling. Making out." I grinned and nodded at the lower half of her body. "Whatever you wanna call 'rubbing my dick on you until we come'." _Because we need just as much privacy for snuggling as anything else_ didn't need saying. It had been years since George had been willing to show even the most platonic physical affection where anybody could see.

"It's 'dry humping'," she said, and then looked startled when I snorted with laughter.

"Nothing 'dry' about this," I said. "How high was the person who came up with _that_?"

"Maybe they kept more clothes on?" She shrugged philosophically as she sat all the way up. "Should I go or not?"

"Go. We should both shower before they get home, anyway."

"Sometime soon we'll be able to double up." Then, worrying her lip absently, she added, "Not that you'll be able to see much of anything in there. My shower light settings are _really_ dark."

"Then I'll just have to get you to wash me," I said, earning both a snicker and a light punch in the thigh, which was so _George_ that I laughed again. So she punched me again, and I kept laughing, and she flung herself right down on me, half pinning me while her mouth found mine.

I made a token noise of protest against her lips and kissed her back. My cock was half hard again by the time she stopped using her tongue to shut me up, and it was my turn to shrug when she arched a brow at me. "What did you expect?" I asked. "That hot body of yours on top of me, plus kissing, plus you smelling like--" _Do not say "horny pussy"_ "--uh, like that--equals me getting a boner." I snapped my fingers. "Basic math."

George didn't ask me to elaborate on "like that", but there was an unmistakable flush of color in her cheeks as she said, with admirable poise, "I haven't exactly had time to learn how consistent your refractory period is, asshole."

Fair enough. "Hey, George?"

"Yeah?" She was climbing off me and off the bed entirely, stretching as she went. Just watching made my mouth go desert-dry, like I hadn't had her in my bed for nearly an hour.

"I just--" God, she was beautiful. Not in the way that gets girls on magazine covers, but in a way that made my throat tighten and my chest ache and my arms feel empty without her there. And made my dick hard. "I always want you."

The way she smiled back said she knew what I meant, all the ways I meant it. "And you'll always have me," she said--her tone easy, but not flippant. "Try not to conk out. You kinda smell _like that_ too."

"Like you, or like me?"

She crouched down by the bed and tugged my t-shirt up, baring my abs, and leaned in close. "Both," she pronounced, after breathing deeply more times than was probably necessary. "And yes, I like it." Her blush had faded, but a hint of it came back. "And I like that you like it on me." She kissed my exposed skin gently. "We'll do this again as soon as we can. All of it." The smile that crossed her face, as she stood back up and turned to leave the room for real, was one I was pretty sure I'd never forget. "And more."


	2. Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For "Yours" (~5500 words), the kinks used from the list are: orgasm control, obedience, and teasing. Tags specific to this story would be light Dom/sub, woman on top, orgasm delay/denial, and aftercare.

"This doesn't seem fair," George said, her voice sharp with an edge of petulance she never lets anyone but me hear. I see the things about her that no one else gets to, including the stuff that makes her irritable with herself; Georgia Carolyn Mason would love to be flawlessly rational, to never have anything get under her skin, but unfortunately for her, she's still human. She gives me those bits of irrationality, the feelings she'd otherwise have to shove down to fester, and that's cool with me.

But this? This was perfectly fair. We both knew I'd only keep her herded into the corner of her room if she let me, and it's not like she'd be shy about telling me--or shoving me away--if she really wanted space. She just _wished_ she wanted space, instead of wanting the distraction I was offering her. I leaned the tiniest bit closer and watched her unconsciously mirror the gesture.

We were close enough to feel each other's body heat, breathing each other's breath without touching. She was the one who'd have to do that. But holy shit, did I want to touch her. I wanted my tongue in her mouth and my hand down her pants. I wanted to feel her fingers scrabbling at my back while _my_ fingers played. I wanted to feel her shake and hear her scream helplessly into a pillow while I licked my way up her spine, and I wanted to suck bruises into her neck while she moaned and tried to work my cock further into her and couldn't because I was already as deep inside her as I could get...

Apparently I was hornier than I'd realized.

Instead of any of that, I just stood and watched her and felt her watching me back through her sunglasses, both of us getting more aroused by the second. George's sex drive isn't as high as mine, but being wanted is a hardwired turn-on for her--not always enough to tempt her away from other things she might be doing, but enough to help her down that road if she's willing. (One discovery from our teenage experimentation, when we were first delving into each other's fantasies and boundaries, was that--if she's turned on to begin with--we can sometimes get her most of the way to a hands-free orgasm if I watch her while I masturbate. How neat is that?)

She's also laid back about it when our moods don't line up. If she really needs to focus, I leave her to her work, but if she's just not feeling it, half the time she'll hang out with me while I take care of things. There's a coziness to that, lying on one of our beds and jerking off with my head in George's lap and her fingers in my hair. I like that; I like having the scent of her body around me, and the way her grip always tightens, pulling my hair a little while I come.

All that aside, it's even better when she _is_ feeling it, and she was feeling it now. She gave me one of the faint smiles that have been driving me crazy since we were fifteen--well, longer than that, but that was when she noticed and started deploying them deliberately. Neither of us has the first clue how to flirt normally with anyone else, but we know all there is to know about giving each other subtle cues or bait. And the cue I was getting from _that_ smile was that her growing desire had a very particular edge to it.

I'd already let her know what I wanted. Now I smiled back at her and said, "You want some playtime, huh? I'm game."

"Okay," she agreed.

Just like that, I was on her to-do list.

George isn't so big on subtlety. When she finally touched me, it was by running a finger up along my hard-on, base to tip, so light I might have barely felt it through my pants if I weren't so hot for her. I shut my eyes involuntarily when she got a grip on me and squeezed.

"You're impossible, you know," she said, in a perfectly level tone that you'd think would be better suited to discussing site stats than any possible situation where she had her hand around my cock--at least, you might think that if you didn't know George. Sometimes she really likes being in control, and when she's in that mood she can be as in control as she wants if it means I can be in _her_.

"Pretty sure that's my job in a nutshell," I replied. "Be impossible. Get into a situation where I'm fucked. Come out smiling."

"You should probably shut up if you want to get laid." But she was laughing as she steered me to the bed and pushed me down on it, taking away my height advantage. She straddled me and nestled close, letting me get a good grip on her. There's no better feeling in the world than that: having my arms full of her, when she's turned on and as close to cuddly as she gets, making those contented sounds.

"If my being a smartass meant you wouldn't sleep with me, we both would've died virgins," I pointed out.

"Or I would've started gagging you."

"Never happen. You like my mouth too much."

"True," she conceded. "I seem to recall liking your mouth a _lot_." She kissed me before I could reply, stopping only to add, "Maybe you should remind me why."

George kisses like she's coming home after being away for a while, like she expects everything to be the way she left it but wants to make _sure_. She's not territorial about me--why would she be?--but you wouldn't know that from the famished way she goes at it sometimes.

"Mmm, you feel good," she murmured, pausing between words to flick her tongue against mine. "Why are you so goddamn _distracting_?"

"Because I was put on this earth to make you suffer?"

"Do you have to be so good at it?"

"Yes," I said. "But on the bright side-- _shit_ , George--" She was grinding against my crotch, making my head swim; I let go of her, throwing my arms wide on the bed. "--you get all this to sweeten the deal."

She sat back on her heels without warning, depriving me of the warmth of her weight as she looked me up and down. "All of it?" she echoed, a deadpan response to my teasing.

"Every bit." I gave her my most lascivious smile. "Every last inch."

Her hands dropped to my hips, framing the especially relevant inches of my body, which, if possible, got even harder as she studied the bulge of my dick tenting my pants. George can focus more intently than anyone else I know, and holy shit, was she ever focused now.

Without replying, she stretched back over me--but not _on_ me, oh no. She was on all fours, her body nearly an inch above mine in a silent demand that I work for it. So I did, lifting my hips off the bed to press my cock between her legs. Her deadpan broke into a small, pleased smile as she watched my face.

"You're a sadist," I said. I was starting to sweat with the effort of rubbing myself against her.

She kissed me before answering, lips parted and wet, and yeah, still teasing, because she could. "What does that say about you?" she asked, lifting her head before I was anywhere near done tasting her mouth. "We both know you love it."

"It says I'm _yours_ ," I whispered, inviting her to do...something. Anything.

"Mine," George said softly, like she was trying the idea on for size, or rolling a new flavor around on her tongue. "That's an appealing thought."

She leaned back down and kissed me again without immediately saying anything else, tongue pushing hungrily into my mouth. _God, George._ She kissed me and kissed me, sucking at my bottom lip, licking at my palate--working me over hard until my lips and my cock felt equally hot and swollen.

"Sit up," she ordered when the kissing stopped, her voice so shredded with lust that my whole body responded, trembling and arching. It's amazing when she lets herself get like that, when she's willing to let go and just _want_ ; knowing I'm the only thing she ever wants badly enough to outright lose control of herself just adds to the rush. My pulse throbbed with it, and not just in the obvious places.

Once she moved so I could oblige, I sat up and repositioned myself so I was cross-legged on the bed, back firmly against the wall. George hadn't said anything about my clothes, so I waited and watched while she slipped out of her pants. My patience--such as it was--was rewarded when she climbed back on top of me, still in her underwear and shirt.

She straddled me comfortably, rubbing herself along my cock in a way that made me twitch under her. "Hey," I murmured, reaching for the front of her shirt.

"Hey, yourself." She leaned away so I could undo the buttons, baring her skin inch by inch. I kissed the base of her throat and as far down her chest as I could without lifting her up. Moving her off my lap was the last thing in the world I wanted to do, even if it would've meant getting my mouth on her breasts.

She kept moving her hips as if she were fucking me--or more accurately, she _was_ fucking me, through her panties and my jeans, gasping from the friction. I pulled her loosely against me and focused on her neck and jawline, alternating between hard kisses and gentle bites--nothing that could leave a mark.

"Are you gonna come from this?" I asked between kisses. She wasn't the only one whose voice was raw.

"Maybe," she replied.

I shut my eyes, shivering in a peculiar kind of ecstasy. "Take what you want, George. You can feel how bad I want you, right? Just the way you like me, so fucking hard for you--" I was gasping too, almost in unison with her. Sometimes there's something breathtaking about feeling her use me to get herself off. Breathtaking and smoking hot.

My hands dropped to her bare legs, where I rubbed my thumbs in matching circles on her inner thighs, just barely brushing the edges of her underwear. It made her shift even more restlessly, torn between wanting me inside her and not wanting to give up the friction from our clothes.

It would've been dead easy to let myself come from what she was doing to me--to _herself_ \--but she hadn't breathed a word about me getting off. If she wanted to stay on my lap and masturbate on my cock, I wasn't about to argue. I just had to let myself zone out, kind of, to a place where I was hyper-aware of her and how she was moving on me and how it felt, but without letting myself get any more worked up than I was.

There's a trick to giving myself that tiny bit of detachment without sacrificing a fraction of how much I'm enjoying her, and George can always tell when I'm doing it. She saw the way I was looking at her, and her smile sharpened with amusement.

"Checking your camera angles?" she asked.

"Uh-huh." I brushed a finger against her mouth, barely touching. It made her head loll and her lips part, and I knew her eyes were rolling back a little.

(The fact that it didn't even freak her out the first time I told her what I was thinking--with no warning, because I hadn't realized exactly what I was doing until I was already saying it--is kind of amazing, given how bad it would've been if I were being literal. But she'd stayed calm while she asked me to explain what the fuck I meant by "camera", and the corner of my brain that wasn't swamped with teenage hormones got downright sappy at the reminder of how utterly she trusts me.)

"Well, keep it up," she said, only the tiniest shift in her tone acknowledging the double entendre. "I'm not done yet."

"And you call _me_ impossible?"

She laced her fingers behind my head, tangling them in my hair, and smirked like she knew the best secret in the world. "I call you too stubborn to refuse a challenge."

And it _was_ a challenge, with the way she was still moving on top of me. I took the deepest breath I could muster, let it out, and asked, "I'll tell you if I get too close?"

George nodded, as I'd figured she would; a quirk of her mouth conveyed that she approved of my asking.

Another inhalation, as slow as I could make it with my heart racing and George giving me a goddamn lap dance while expecting me to not blow my load, and I tried as hard as I could to _think_ instead of _feel_.

Even more than she is, I'm trained to filter the world through lenses and lighting and exposure, to get absolute maximum effect when I immortalize what I see. Even in bed with her--the one place where cameras never come, where I can never, never record what I'm looking at, what we're doing--that part of my brain is always on. Usually it's just white noise at the back of my mind, but it comes in handy in unorthodox ways.

And right now, George was giving me what would be a beautiful shot: the smooth lines of her throat and jaw when she swallowed back some louder noise, the sheen of sweat on her face. With her shirt completely open, the fabric draped and clung to her provocatively, offering glimpses of her body. If I filmed it right, there'd be hardly any skin visible at first, only hints and promises until one of us unclasped her bra and pushed her shirt down off her shoulders. She'd never in a million years be able to pull off a serious striptease; I think it sounds fun in theory, but I also know she'd laugh herself sick if she tried. George isn't wired for coy or sultry. But what I was seeing--what I knew I could make the camera see--had all the same impact.

In long, lingering shots, I'd expose her layer by layer, making every revelation a slow, building thrill. Maybe a bit of a strobe, that added bit of emphasis on how hard she was riding me, the way her lips parted and moved wordlessly.

I'd get her in profile when she came, when she pressed her forehead to mine. I'd give her mouth a tight focus while she whimpered and swore, while I kissed her through the pleasure washing over her--one-sided kisses, because she was too distracted with sensation to kiss me back.

I'd capture how hot she was, and how intimate it was that she was letting me see how badly she wanted what she was taking from me...and I would _not_ lose control, would not get off with her despite how she squirmed against my cock.

I wouldn't.

And I _didn't_ , not even when she cried out and convulsed against me, or when she slumped in my arms with a low, satisfied moan.

But God, it was close. If George hadn't come so fast, or if we'd had less practice at this, I would've blown it--as it were. As it was, I was shaking with effort and need as she peeled herself off my lap, kneeling over me instead. I could feel her thighs trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm; she'd pulled herself away faster than she normally might have, keeping me from tipping over the edge.

She studied my face from behind her sunglasses, then put a hand over my mouth. I grinned against it, and the corner of her mouth twitched with a crooked smile. "Did you mean to give me that?" I asked, touching my tongue to her palm. She bit her lip and didn't answer, but she also didn't take her hand away.

I exhaled against her fingers and everything between us went still, like that moment when the wind dies and the air goes heavy, waiting for it to start back up. George's hands are freakishly sensitive; I've never gotten her all the way off with just my mouth on her hands, but reducing her to a quivering puddle was well within the realm of possibility. She was giving me an opening to move onto equal footing with her if I wanted to change things up.

At the moment, I was perfectly content to have her in charge. I let my lips part further, and her fingertips drifted over them before she pushed a pair of fingers in. I sucked obediently, feeling the edge of her nails on my tongue, the light pressure of her knuckles against the roof of my mouth.

George let me do that for a couple minutes, moaning quietly when I pressed my tongue between those intruding fingers. She wound up curled over me, her hips rocking with the pleasure crackling along that erotic connection between her hands and her pussy.

She was trying to let my arousal die down a little, but with her body rubbing against me like that, it wasn't really helping. I tilted my head back as much as I could, kissing her fingers as they slid out of my mouth. "I don't think this is having the effect you're going for," I said.

"Oh." She reclaimed her hand entirely, with a parting caress along my cheek. "All right. Get undressed." With no more preamble, she got up and started taking the rest of her clothes off.

I spent a pleasant moment contemplating her underwear while we both stripped to the skin. There's something satisfying about simple panties in a solid, pale color, and that something is how obvious it is when they're wet.

George caught me looking and pursed her lips at me in a way that told me she was rolling her eyes behind her sunglasses, but that didn't stop her from pulling her underwear off at an angle that showed exactly how turned on she was. The fact that I hadn't done much to actively contribute was no reason not to appreciate it.

I felt a pang of lightheaded regret that she'd undressed so fast. Sometimes when she's letting me call the shots she lies down and spreads her legs for me first, giving me a good, leisurely look at where her underwear is wet right through. I like touching her through it, stroking and rubbing until she comes and I can watch that wetness spreading.

She was studying me too, her mouth soft with desire. I stayed standing, letting her look as long as she wanted; I can usually tell when she's admiring my body, even when she can't let it show, but when she _can_ show it... It's like coming in from the cold to an open fire, basking in the heat of her delight. I could feel her gaze lingering on me, on how hard I still was for her, even as she backed away and snagged a towel from the hook on the back of her door.

"Lie down," she said, laying the towel out on her bed. "On your side, facing the wall."

As soon as my head hit the pillow, the room went from "dim" to almost completely dark; George had switched off all but one of her black lights. There was a familiar clack as she set her sunglasses down on her nightstand.

"Good," she said, joining me on the bed. I shut my eyes and listened to the sound of her opening a bottle of lube, squeezing some out.

Then she spooned herself against my back, sliding an arm around my waist. Slick fingers trailed up the length of my cock, making it jerk at full attention against her hand--a good soldier waiting for orders. "You're awfully horny, aren't you?" George asked, breath hot against the nape of my neck.

"Yeah." I adjusted the towel, covering her sheets between me and the wall.

She made an approving noise. "Do you need to come?"

"Yeah," I whispered. Her hand was wrapped around my dick now, in a warm, wet grip that felt like heaven to my roiling hormones. "Fuck, yes, I need it, George, please--"

"Or do you want to fuck me?"

And I knew, I _knew_ what she was asking, and part of me, the part that was all aching cock and balls, wanted to recoil. But yeah, I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to make her thoughts dissolve into desperation the way mine were, wanted to fuck her so hard and deep she'd feel the ghost of my cock in there for days.

 _"Yes,"_ I choked out, teeth gritted. My whole body was a mind-numbing orgasm waiting to happen, so close I could taste it. And George was pressed tight against my back, her breasts soft between my shoulder blades while I thrust into her hand.

"Yes what?"

"I want to fuck you," I said, or thought I said, or hoped--hoped she heard and understood through the ecstasy coiling through my body, ready to break open inside me. I was so ready, so close, could feel that hot pleasure surging up from deep inside...

George yanked her hand away.

All that bliss evaporated instantly, but my body was already committed. Grudging come spattered over the towel, my cock twitching in feeble protest at the abandonment. I could feel George holding her breath; she'd lifted herself up to look down over my shoulder and watch, to see if she'd nailed the timing.

She had. Instead of going limp in sullen, miserable protest, my cock stayed hard in equally miserable defiance. My body felt like a simmering column of tension from head to toe, and noises that would've been unbearably humiliating in front of anyone else were spilling out of my mouth, but my goddamn dick was still up and ready for use.

(The first time--shit, the _first_ time we'd crossed the line from her edging me--teasing me to the knife's edge of orgasm over and over again before letting me come--to her setting out to give me a ruined orgasm, short-circuiting my body into a shuddering mess of thwarted pleasure... I'd known what it meant, in theory; I'd said _sure, go for it_ , let her toy with me. But I hadn't _known_ , and neither had she. She'd had my wrists bound, fortunately; if I'd been able to act on my instinct to punch something, I probably would've smashed my fist against her wall, or worse, in that first second of confused, nauseated frustration.)

But we knew what to expect now, on the rare occasions when she did this to me. She cuddled against me again, holding me from behind with a gentleness that was almost painful when my body was demanding mindless sensation.

"Thank you," she murmured in my ear, practically purring. Her fingers brushed along my erection. "Your cock feels so _good_ , Shaun. So nice and hard."

"All yours," I whispered back, reminding us both of how we'd started out. I was a wreck, sticky with sweat and stray come, my emotions as raw as the need making my cock quiver in her hand. Even that light touch made me want to rub and thrust, searching for the ecstasy that was just out of reach. But whatever the biological reason, it'd be a while before I could get there--if I could at all today--and in the meantime...

George kissed down the back of my neck, then along the base of my throat as she nudged me onto my back. I could barely see her silhouette against the lone black light, but I didn't need sight. I needed George's touch and her voice, and those were both conveying appreciation and tenderness while she straddled my hips, keeping her mouth busy along my collarbones.

The excruciating sensitivity of my cock made me arch hard as she guided it into her body--that sweet, hot sensation of _homecoming_ and rightness at being inside her, even as my hips shoved frantically off the bed. I grabbed her hips, fingers clenching roughly on her as if brute force could possibly get us closer together.

She waited until I was flat on the mattress again before saying, _"Mine,"_ in a tone of such satisfaction that I grinned.

"You know it, sadist," I said, and she laughed.

"I'm going to get myself off," she replied, matter-of-fact. "And then you're going to do whatever you want."

I nodded. George--who could see just fine, unlike me--reached into the drawer of her nightstand, dug out a small vibe she likes for stuff like that, and got to work.

She spent the next little while rocking herself on me, squeezing my sides between her thighs while she held the toy against her clit, working it in a slightly different rhythm. She could've used my fingers instead--I've got loads of practice getting her off that way--but when she wants something precise, it makes more sense for her to administer that stimulation. And judging from how minuscule her movements were, how hard she was pressing the vibe against herself, she was after something _really_ precise.

I could feel the pulse of the vibe right through her pelvis, the familiar clench and slide of her pussy around my hard-on, and Christ, it felt good. I was still aching and frustrated, but the sensation of her, the soft little sounds catching in her throat as she got closer and closer... Those were incredible. I caressed her breasts and belly while she worked herself, and just before the magic of technology blew her mind, she lowered her head and kissed me, gasping into my mouth while the orgasm tore through her.

She pressed kisses along my jaw as she caught her breath, then nuzzled my neck affectionately. "Think you'll be able to come?"

"Not sure." I put my hands on her hips again, waited a sec while she set the vibe aside, and rolled us both over. I couldn't keep the needy edge out of my voice. "One way to find out." Leaning close, I kissed her ear, tracing its whorls with my tongue. George shivered, head turning to the side to give me better access; she melts when I play with her ears, which is way easier with her sunglasses off.

Maybe that was what made her get even wetter around my cock. Or maybe it was that when I exhaled across her ear, what I whispered was, "I'm going to fuck the hell out of you."

She laughed down in her throat, a rich, possessive sound. "I was hoping you would."

 _That's_ the real benefit she gets from what she'd done to me. She doesn't need to trigger a misfire in my dick to be able to use my body; I'm usually happy to let her. And God knows she enjoys the proof of how much I trust her, how thoroughly I'll let her have her way with me, but there are plenty of other ways to get that result too.

Nope, it's the part where--done just right--that kind of play leaves me horny enough to fuck her like my life depends on it, and able to keep at it until I feel like my heart's going to explode before I come. _If_ I come.

Life's probably easier for guys whose partners measure love by flowers and chocolate (if people like that exist. George's opinion is that it's more like some people have been duped into believing that flowers are all they can get).

"There you go," George said softly, as I nestled into her arms and buried my face against her neck, eyes squeezed shut; it wasn't like I could see her, anyway.

But my other senses were all flooded with her, like liquid fire rushing up my spine. I started fucking her slowly, pushing as deep as I could with every single thrust--coming as close as I could to losing myself inside her.

I went at it without stopping until my teeth were practically bared and "slow" wasn't an option anymore. Our bodies were both slick with sweat--most of it mine--by the time I started begging out loud instead of silently, begging my body to just _work_ the way it was desperate to.

George kissed and caressed me while I fought to come; between kisses, she whispered promises of what she'd do to get me off later, if fucking her now didn't work.

Maybe it was those promises that let me finally get off--the comfort of her arms around me and her hands on my back, of knowing that she'd take care of me. Or maybe it was just enough time passing since she'd short-circuited me. Don't know, don't care. What matters is that suddenly everything fell back into place, like my body abruptly remembered what it was trying to do.

George held me tight while I drowned in a tidal wave of pleasure and release--drowned in _her_. Any sound I made was lost under the pounding and ringing in my ears, but I still heard her murmuring my name while I thrust helplessly into her a few last times.

I flat-out collapsed as the orgasm receded. My arms refused to take any weight when I tried to lever myself off her, to let her breathe--and it didn't matter, because she was still clutching me against her.

"It's fine," she said, answering whatever I mumbled. "Shhh, Shaun, it's fine. I've got you." Her fingers twined tightly in my hair, then smoothed it. "I've got you."

I wanted to reply, but my brain wasn't up to managing words. Or to staying fully conscious, it turned out; my eyes refused to open, even when George eventually repositioned us.

It must've taken her a while, starting out with my dead weight on top of her. Somehow she coaxed me into moving, and by the time I managed to scrape together a coherent thought, we were almost on our sides, still snuggled close together.

My cock wasn't inside her anymore, but was still right against her body, so I guessed she'd been trying to keep it in place. I reached down between our legs and pressed it more firmly against her.

George answered the question as silently as I was asking it, slipping her hand down by mine. It was awkward but not difficult to get my dick back inside her; I was totally soft, but we'd fucked each other enough, recently enough, that her pussy was still relaxed and welcoming and so, so wet.

It didn't feel like "having sex" again. Sure, it probably met the dictionary definition, but we weren't fucking now, or working up to it. We were just getting ourselves as close as we possibly could. George doesn't tend to want post-sex cuddling as much as I do, but when she commits to it--when she knows it's something I _need_ \--she doesn't half-ass it any more than she does with anything else.

Intense play calls for a slow, thorough cooldown period that's equally intense in a very different way. We stayed like that for a long time, not talking, George holding me gently in every way she could.

Tenderness doesn't come easily to her; in that respect, I don't think she'd be much different even if we hadn't been raised in an emotional hazard zone. Maybe in some other world she'd at least accept it from me more easily than she does.

There's no way to know the answers to the million "what if?" questions of our lives. But here and now, in the dark of her room and the comfort of her arms, I soaked up the love she was pouring out for me.

And it was perfect.


End file.
